CHAPTER IX.

Upon the arrival of new prisoners at the gate of the stockade, there would be a cry raised throughout the camp, commencing near the entrance, and spreading rapidly to the farthest extremity of the enclosure, of “fresh fish! fresh fish!!” It was like the alarm of fire in a city, and quickly collected a crowd, and as the numbers increased, the din became more deafening, and to the new comer who did not know what it meant, perfectly appalling.

I have seen prisoners come in who looked perfectly bewildered as they gazed upon the mob of ragged, shoeless, hatless, unshaven, long-haired, howling beings who confronted them, looking more like escaped lunatics than officers; when some one back in the crowd would sing out, give the gentleman air, don’t take his haversack, keep your hands out of his pocket, don’t put that louse on him, why don’t some of you fellows take the gentleman’s baggage, and show him to his room, Johnny show the gentleman up to No. 13. I remember especially, the look of perfect bewilderment on the face of Col. Frank C. Miller, of the 147th New York, as he stood at the entrance of the enclosure, and the look of joyful relief as I called out, hello Frank, come over here, and he recognized an old and intimate friend. And he told me afterwards, that he never in his life was so pleased to see any one as he was to see me just at that moment, for, said he, I thought they were putting me into a lunatic asylum.

FRESH FISH. 

A stinging rebuke was given by, I think it was Gen. Schaler, who said to his escort, loud enough to be heard by all: “I thought I was going to be put in an officer’s prison.” This practice was mostly confined to the old Libby prisoners, who had, some of them, been confined for more than a year, and had, in a measure, become demoralized; for I do not believe there can be anything more demoralizing than the sufferings, privations, and hardships endured by our prisoners; and I wish to say right here, that to Chaplain Dixon, of the 16th Connecticut, and Chaplain White of the 5th R. I. Heavy Artillery, the officers owe a debt of gratitude for the faithfulness with which they performed their christian duties. They were both earnest christian workers, zealous in the cause of the Master, anxious for the eternal welfare of the souls of those who were placed in their keeping, and fearless in the discharge of the duties devolving upon them as embassadors for Christ. While all did not profit by their earnest exhortations, there were few who were not benefitted by their presence and faithful counsels, and all held them in high respect and admiration for their christian qualities. Speaking of Col. Miller’s entrance into Macon, as soon as the crowd saw that he had found an old friend, they gave way and I escorted him to our quarters, where I went to work, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing him happy in the enjoyment of a good breakfast. I cooked a couple of eggs, with a small piece of bacon, and fried a few sliced potatoes, which, with a biscuit, made what we called an elegant meal. The Colonel was busy talking and eating when, looking up, he said, as he helped himself to the last egg and biscuit, “By George, Lon, they give you good rations here, don’t they?”

“Good rations!” said I, “good rations! why, Frank how much do you think this breakfast cost?”

“Why, I don’t know, I supposed you drew this for rations.”

“Well,” said I, “this meal cost just about eleven dollars. All the rations you draw for two days, wouldn’t make such a meal as this.”

Colonel Miller, who had been a near neighbor and associate of mine long before the war broke out, received a severe wound in the chest by a minnie ball, at the Battle of the Wilderness, and was reported dead and was mourned as such by his family for a long time, but was rescued from the flames that broke out, after the battle, and taken a prisoner to Salisbury, and placed in the hospital there, whence he was removed when convalescent, to Macon. He soon found the Adjutant of his regiment, Lieutenant H. H. Lyman, who gave him a place in his quarters, and they afterwards remained together.

On the 23d of May, Lieutenant Wood, 82nd Indiana, died in the hospital, just outside the stockade, and was buried the next day at 1.30 p. m. Chaplain White being allowed to hold the funeral service, a number of us offered to give our parole to attend the funeral, but our request was denied. On the same day one hundred and eleven fresh fish were brought in, among whom were Brigadier Generals Seymour and Schaler. That night about ten o’clock a tremendous storm came up, which drowned out all who had not built themselves sheds, and the main building, where were quartered the general officers, etc., was crowded with those driven from their quarters by the drenching rain. This main building as it was called, was a large hall, that had been built for the display of goods during the fair, which had heretofore been held on these grounds, and was the only building in the stockade that was clapboarded and shingled, and with the exception of an old tumble down affair on the opposite side, east, was the only building in the enclosure when we took possession.

Having built myself a shelter on the first day I entered the stockade, I was all right; but those who had burrowed for shelter were driven out like rats from a flooded cellar, and were obliged to seek shelter in the large hall from the pitiless storm. There was not room for all, and those who could not crowd in there had to rough it out as best they could. On the 25th of May, I first met Adjutant H. H. Lyman, of the 147th New York, from whom I learned that Col. Miller was wounded and a prisoner.

About this time, they brought us in lumber, pine poles and nails, to build ourselves some sheds, and all went to work on the construction. I belonged to No. 9 squad, and on the 27th of May, our lumber and other materials were furnished, and we all went to work, and by night had our shed so nearly completed that we moved in, though it took us several days to get our bunks finished and everything comfortably arranged. It was amusing to see a squad of ninety men go to work to erect one of these sheds.

Out of the ninety, about thirty would do the work, and the rest would stand around and make suggestions. Among so many who should be equally interested, it was astonishing how many bosses there would be, who could tell how it ought to be done, but seemed indisposed to do it. Nothing was done to suit these Superintendents, but when their grumblings became too loud and boisterous, some one who was tugging away at the big end of one of these fifty feet pine poles, would rest it on his knees long enough to shout “Louder, old pudden head.” This was a favorite epithet, used to quiet any one in camp who got too excited or eloquent on any subject, and I remember one Tennessee officer, Captain Hayes, who so objected to it that he was ready to fight any one who called him “old pudden head”—and I have seen him furiously searching for the man who had yelled this, while he was loudly proclaiming his sentiments on some subject, but it only caused him to be annoyed the more, for when it was seen how sensitive he was on this point, there were plenty to be found to thus pester him, while they dexterously avoided the blows, aimed at their heads with a stick he hurled after them. He was a large, powerful man, with a voice that could be heard from one end of the camp to the other, very excitable when talking, and could never understand a joke, but took everything in earnest, and nothing afforded the boys more pleasure than to get him boiling mad.

CHAPTER XII.

At roll call on the 27th of July, the first division was notified to be ready to move to Charleston that evening. The prison camp presented a lively appearance all that day, baking, washing, packing up and getting ready to move.

About six p. m. we bid them good bye, and went back to our now half deserted quarters, to await our turn.

Plans of escape between Savannah and Charleston were freely discussed, and an organized break was agreed upon, when they came to the point nearest our forces.

This organized plot fell through in some way, but not being aboard of this train, I only know what I learned afterwards about the failure. About thirty officers did escape, by sawing through the floor of the cars, and were not missed until the train arrived at Charleston.

The following account of the affair, told by Lieut. Rogers, of the Confederate army to Maj. H. H. Lyman, this summer, however, throws a little light on the subject.

Lieut. Rogers said: “I was very young at the time, though a Lieutenant in the Confederate service, and was detailed to transport the Yankee prisoners from Macon to Charleston. I was very particular to instruct my men to be very vigilant, as the prisoners they were guarding were no ordinary fellows, but were a shrewd, sharp lot of Yankee officers, and would need a heap of watching; for if there was any chance to escape, they would improve it, and they must be constantly on the alert to prevent any of them getting away. Savannah was passed without any trouble, the Yankees seeming to enjoy themselves, singing, laughing and joking, and they and the guard seemed to be on the best of terms. Charleston was reached, and I proceeded to turn over my prisoners and turn them into the jail yard. I had been congratulating myself upon the successful accomplishment of my mission, when, upon counting them into the jail yard, what was my horror to ascertain, that I was thirty-four Yankee officers, and four guards short.

Instead of going to headquarters and reporting the situation, I sat down upon the curbstone in front of the jail to collect my thoughts, and consider what I should do.

While I was sitting there brooding over the affair, and feeling about as blue as though I was myself a prisoner, a Captain rode up and inquired if I was Lieut. Rogers and was in command of the guard, that brought the Yankee prisoners from Macon. I told him I was, and he told me I was ordered to report to the General’s headquarters under arrest. I went up to headquarters, not knowing whether I was to be shot or sent to prison, but concluded to make a clean breast of it, and tell all there was about it.

The General listened to my story, and after keeping me in suspense for what seemed to me to be a long time, released me from arrest, and told me to go back to Macon with the balance of my men, and be careful that I didn’t lose any on my way back.

The Lieutenant continued, I never afterwards heard from either the prisoners or my men. I didn’t care so much about the Yankee prisoners getting away, but would like to have got my guard back.

He did not know whether they were killed by the Yankee prisoners or had been induced by them to desert, the latter however, is the most probable, but as I have never heard from any of them since, I am equally in the dark concerning the affair, and, like the Lieutenant, can only guess at what took place.

The next day we were notified to be ready that evening, and that night we were counted out and placed on board the cars. Instead of taking us to Charleston, as we had been told they would, we were stopped at Savannah, and placed in the United States marine hospital yard, around which a stockade had been built, thus spoiling our plans of escape. “The best laid plans of mice and men aft gang aglee.” This was a yard of about two acres, quite well shaded with live oak trees, some of which grew to enormous dimensions, one on the south side, spreading over nearly or quite a hundred feet of ground. Here we drew rations of fresh beef, the first in many months, and our rations were generally better than we had heretofore received. We were strictly guarded, but, with few exceptions, were well treated. Colonel Wayne, of the 1st Georgia Regulars, was in command, who designated Colonel F. C. Miller, 147th New York, as senior officer of the camp, and all communications were forwarded through him.

Of course almost the first thing to do when we had got fairly settled in a new prison, was to commence a tunnel. Two were started, and had progressed nearly to completion, when as in Macon, these were both discovered and filled up. Another was soon started in a different direction, and was already to open, which would have given egress to half the camp, when, by a most unfortunate accident, it was discovered on the morning preceding the night we were to make the break. We had reached within a few inches of the surface, and ten minutes’ work would complete the opening, but it was so near daylight we thought we would be already that night, and get a good early start the next.

That morning, however, as the sentry was watching a cow cropping the grass just outside the camp, what was his surprise to see her suddenly break through and nearly disappear. Of course an investigation showed what had been done, and again had our toil been in vain—no, not in vain, for it had kept us employed, and diverted our minds from the misery of our situation.

While in Savannah, we built ourselves what is known as the old fashioned Dutch oven, in which we could bake our pomes. To the younger readers a description of this oven may be interesting. A flat stone was secured about two feet square, for the bottom, and around and over this stone was erected an oven of stone, brick and mortar, capable of holding about four good sized pomes. Wood was then split up fine, and a good rousing fire built, and kept up until the oven was thoroughly heated, when it would be filled to its capacity with pomes, the different messes taking turns to do their baking, and in half an hour after closing the oven up tight, they would be taken out nicely baked, and when properly made, afforded a very palatable meal. In order to have them light, we would mix up a quart or so of corn meal in cold water, and set in the sun to sour. The pome was then mixed in the same way, stirring in a little of this sour rising and adding a little soda. This sour meal was kept on hand, so as to have enough for three or four days ahead.

A corn dodger was made in the same way, but was made the size of a large biscuit, and was baked in a skillet with an iron cover, a fire being built both over and under the skillet, and when not made light by the use of this sour rising and soda, would make a dangerous missile to throw at a man or dog.

Having now served an apprenticeship of about four months as cook for the mess, I flattered myself that I was qualified to take charge of any first class restaurant as chief cook and bottle washer, and I would bring my corn pome on the table, with all the pride with which a young wife, would present her best efforts at cooking to a tea party. And when I had wheat flour, I would be just a little put out, if my biscuit did not receive the fulsome praise I thought they were entitled to. Our rations in Savannah, were more liberal than they had been during our captivity, and by buying such things as were not issued to us, we always had a little ahead.

Colonel Wayne issued an order after the discovery of this first tunnel, that in order to give a better chance for inspection, tents must be raised three and a half feet from the ground. This order was usually complied with, but some claiming that they had no lumber, neglected to do as directed, and the result was that a detail was sent in, and removed sixteen tents that had not yet been raised, causing much inconvienence and suffering to those former occupants, as that night a severe storm came up, and being without shelter, many were drenched to the skin. These tents were returned in a day or two however, by recommendation of the surgeon in charge. Platforms were built at different points, upon which were built fires at night, to better enable the guard to see what was going on inside. Around these fires we would gather and sing old army songs, which served to put a little spirit into us. 

WASHING CLOTHES AT SAVANNAH, GA. 

These fires, while they were not built for our comfort or convenience, really were both to us. They drove away the musquitoes and purified and warmed the chill, night air, thus making it more comfortable sleeping than it would otherwise have been. On the 2d of August an order came for our two Chaplains and seven surgeons to be ready to leave for parole. It was a day both of joy and gloom. We had learned to love those two earnest christian soldiers, who had been so faithful to us, and were sorry to part with them, though we rejoiced at their good fortune and fondly hoped that it might be our turn soon. Most of them took with them only what they were sure to need, and freely gave to their most intimate comrades all else that could be of any value to them. But to show the difference in the dispositions of people, I wish to refer to two cases as illustrations of distinct sides of human nature. Dr. Robert Rae had a fine case of surgical instruments, which, although valuable to him, even after he was free, he gave to Adjutant H. H. Lyman, 147th New York, telling him they could be sold for money enough to subsist him for some time.

The other case is that of Dr. Brets, who had a mattress and some other camp property, that would be of no earthly use to him and which he could not take with him, so he magnanimously consented to sell them to the highest bidder, which happened to be Captain Hock of my mess. This mattress was quite a comfort to us and we were glad to get it, even at the exorbitant price we were obliged to pay. We did not begrudge the generous Doctor the greenbacks we paid him, and hope he is still living to enjoy them, for to such a generous soul, a few dollars, more or less, must be a great source of comfort. If I could find out his address, I would donate him a copy of this volume, just to show my gratitude. Before leaving, the Chaplains had a rousing farewell meeting, and each delivered a brief but eloquent address, and amid hearty hand-shakings and fervent God bless you’s, they took their way out of the camp. Only one officer escaped while we were at Savannah—Captain Sampson, 2d Mass. H. A., and he was soon recaptured and brought back.

He escaped by crawling out through a hole under the high board fence and tried to reach the fort on the coast about six miles away, but the swamps were simply impassible, and after wandering about through water and mud nearly knee deep for two or three days, was obliged to abandon the attempt to reach the coast, and was arrested by a patrol, who accidentally run upon him while he was trying to extricate himself from the impassible swamp.

He said that at one time he was in sight of the fort, but the water deepened so fast as he approached the shore, that he was obliged to retrace his steps.

It was a source of some little comfort to us to be once more within hearing of the morning and evening guns of a Union fort, but surrounded as we were by the guard of a hostile enemy, how long a distance that six miles seemed.

While at Savannah we were also furnished kettles, in which to heat water for washing our clothes; and as we had no extra changes of clothing, some ludicrous scenes were witnessed while the washing and drying was going on.

Lieut. Abbot, while boiling his clothing, tied a blanket around his waist until they were dry enough to wear again, making him look like an old woman, and while thus employed was sketched by an artist named Dahl, and presented with his own picture.

On the 13th of September we were placed on board the cars and arrived at Charleston the same evening, where we were placed in the jail yard, to be knocked out by General Gilmore’s batteries on Morris Island. This was without exception the most filthy, lousy, dirty place I ever saw. There were only fifty A tents for six hundred prisoners, and scarcely any wood with which to cook our rations. At Charleston occurred the first death by starvation that I had witnessed, the deceased being a member of my company.

Soon after we entered the jail yard Capt. Hock and myself were greeted by two skeletons, whom we never would have recognized had they not made themselves known to us. They were reduced to mere skin and bone, and neither could walk, being on the very verge of death from starvation. As soon as possible I made them some gruel and tried to nurse them back to life. We fed them sparingly through the evening and then left them a pot of food to eat during the night, being particular to caution them not to eat too much, Sergeant Sweet, who was the stronger of the two, promising to be careful of his comrade, who could not be depended upon to control his craving for food. In the night this poor fellow crawled near enough to reach the pot of food while the Sergeant was asleep and ate it all.

It was his last meal on earth, for his poor starved stomach was too weak to endure so much, and the next morning he was dead. The guard carried him outside the dead line, where he lay all day, festering in the sun, and would not let me approach near enough to spread a blanket over his dead form, to hide the sight from our gaze.

There were a number of negroes belonging to some Massachusetts regiment, confined in jail, but were not allowed to come down into the yard. They were beautiful singers, and entertained us almost every evening while we remained there. This, with one exception, was the only sound that gave us any pleasure.

We could hear the boom of Gilmore’s guns on Morris Island, and watch the course of the shell he was every fifteen minutes tossing into the doomed city. Two or three times pieces of shell fell inside the yard, one piece cutting off a limb of the locust tree that was at the time affording me shade, while I was reading one of those old Harper’s that I brought along.

The only escape made from the jail yard was by Lieut. H. Lee Clark, 2nd Mass. H. A., who bought a reb lieutenant’s uniform, and walked out without a question. He was subsequently brought back, however. Upon his return to the jail yard he gave the following narrative of his escape:

As he passed out of the gate, the sentry seeing his uniform and insignia of rank, faced and came to a present arms, which he answered by a salute, and passed on. Being now free from the prison, he started off, but being a stranger in the city, he did not exactly know what direction to take.

He had wandered about for some time, trying to think of some plan to reach our lines, when his attention was attracted by two ladies who seemed to be watching his movements, from the stoop of a house that looked as though it was occupied by people in moderate circumstances. After passing and repassing the house two or three times, he concluded to try to get something to eat there, and for this purpose approached the ladies. They asked him into the house and set a lunch before him, and thinking he would be safer here than in the street, he concluded to stay as long as possible. He found the conversation of the ladies entertaining, and by cautiously drawing them out in conversation, he found them to be strongly tinctured with union sentiments. Finally after satisfying himself that it would be safe to do so, he told them who and what he was, and appealed to them for shelter and protection, until he could devise some plan for leaving the city.

This they cheerfully promised, and also agreed to assist him to the utmost of their ability. They kept him at their house two or three days, until they could exchange his officer’s uniform for that of a private, and then procured him a pass, as their brother, to visit Sullivan’s Island, which was opposite Morris Island, and at one place was only separated from it by about three hundred yards.

This Island was reached by steamer and was strongly fortified. The bay between there and Morris Island was full of torpedoes to prevent attack by water.

He roamed about the Island all day, trying to find some means of crossing, but could discover no boat, not even a plank that would sustain his weight.

He staid on the Island all night and tried again the next day to find some means to get across the short belt of water to Morris Island. He could not swim, and not a board was to be found that would assist him in his extremity.

He was without food and was now taken ill, and was finally obliged to go back to Charleston, and give himself up, when he was placed in the hospital, and after his recovery, sent back to prison.

September 26th, we were told that if we would give our parole not to attempt to escape, good quarters would be furnished us, and as escape from here seemed impossible, we gladly accepted the proposition.

Upon giving our parole eighty of us were sent to a house on Broad Street, which looked out on the bay. It was a three story, white house, with wide piazzas facing the water, and just across the street were bath houses, that we were permitted to use whenever we pleased. Here for the first time since we were placed in the pen at Macon, we had the facilities for cleanliness so necessary to insure good health. Then in the evening we could sit out on the piazza, and, looking down the bay, see the flash of the guns five miles away, anon hearing sharp quick reports, and then watch the course of the shell by the trail of fire, as it pursued its course into the city, while we amused ourselves by singing and commenting upon the bombardment.

We were visited almost daily by the Sisters of Mercy—God bless these brave, noble women—who brought in delicacies for the sick, and tobacco for those that used it, which they gave freely to those without means to buy, or sold to those who were able to pay. They also traded Confederate money for our greenbacks, giving us better rates than we could get elsewhere. Then they would take the greenbacks to the reb prisoners on Morris Island, for they had free access through both lines in prosecuting their christian duty, and they were worthy of the confidence of both governments, as they never acted the part of spy for either. Braving every danger, and only intent on doing service for the Master, and relieving suffering wherever they could find it. How many of our poor boys, who were brought there from Andersonville, and were suffering from disease and starvation, were soothed, nursed and comforted by those noble women. May God reward them for all their self sacrifice, all their tedious pilgrimages, from one camp to another, all their weary watching beside the squalid pallets of the wretched suffering heroes, despite the hurtling missiles of death, that were flying in every direction about the city; nothing daunted or deterred them from making their regular daily visits, though I know of one instance, (and it was probably only one of many,) where a shell struck and burst only a few feet in front of the carriage that was bringing them to our quarters.

They were frightened badly, and what woman would not be, but this did not deter them from making their daily visits to the sick and suffering soldiers of both armies, and doing all in their power to alleviate distress, feeding the hungry, and watching by the bedside of the dying, administering the consolation of Christian faith and hope to those who were passing away, their only reward the consciousness of a duty well performed. “Verily they shall have their reward.”

On the 5th of October we were again on board a train, and this time our destination was Columbia, the capital of South Carolina. We were placed in box cars, with two guards at each door, some of the same men who had been guarding us while in Charleston, and with whom we had been on terms of intimacy, we having been allowed many privileges while on parole, and had not been under as strict surveillance as heretofore, being permitted to go in and out during the day, whenever we pleased, and had gained the confidence of our guardians to such an extent, that they did not think it necessary to watch us very closely. This we thought would be a good chance to escape. It was agreed between us that Captains Cady, Hock and Eastmond and Lieut. Masters should jump from the car, which was running only about ten or twelve miles an hour, and I was to go on to Columbia with our baggage, of which we had considerable, so that in case of recapture, they would not lose all of this, to us, valuable property, but would again be in condition to commence housekeeping. Cady and Masters sat in the door with their legs hanging out, and I sat beside the guard, and after dark got into conversation with him. I had a pine stick which I was whittling, and as he would frequently bring his gun to an order beside me, I managed to remove the cap from his gun, and insert this pine stick into the tube.

This I communicated to my comrades. I then went back, and, standing alongside of this verdant reb, soon had him in good humor by getting off some funny yarns, joking, laughing and keeping him amused by swapping lies with him, until he thought I was one of the jolliest Yanks he had ever seen. And I did feel jolly, for I had a dead sure thing on him. We finally got on such friendly terms that he asked me to hold his gun while he took off his shoe to see what in h—l it was hurt his foot so; some dog gone thing was pestering him awfully; he reckoned it was a dog gone peg sticking up thar. Now was their time, and if I only had his belt containing the caps and cartridges, it would have been my time, too. We were passing through a swampy piece of woods, and none of us knew how deep it was or how far to high ground; but Capt. Cady and Lieut. Masters took in the situation and jumped. To show myself worthy of the confidence he had reposed in me, I snapped the old musket, but that only served to drive the pine plug more securely into the tube, and by the time he had put on a new cap they were out of range, even if the gun had been discharged. He exploded the cap, however, in the direction of the fugitives, and then relieved himself by cursing the d—n old gun; but my zeal was duly recognized, and our friendship was more firmly cemented than ever, as I was so mad to think they would play such a scurvy trick, especially while I was on guard. It was not long before the frequent report of arms told us that others were making a “jump for life and liberty.”

About one hundred and fifty jumped from the cars and escaped into the swamp that night, and amidst all the firing there was not one hurt that I ever heard of. After Cady and Masters jumped, the guard at the opposite door was so watchful that Hock and Eastman could not get a chance to escape.

Had I not promised to stay on board and take care of the baggage, I should have taken the gun and followed Cady and Masters, which I think would more than ever convince my reb friend that I was zealous in the performance of military duty. I could see from my position in the door, dark objects leaping from the car in front, followed by a streak of fire from the gun of one of the guards, showing that the caps had not all been replaced with pine plugs, though I was told afterwards that a number of caps had been removed. I think the safest way, however, to prevent a gun going off, is when you remove the cap, to insert a plug into the tube. We were a jolly crowd that night, that passed through the swampy country between Charleston and Columbia, for it was fun to see our comrades getting away, and witness the frantic efforts of the guard to prevent them. Officers were shouting to their men to shoot the d—n Yankees, and the guards were doing their level best to obey orders.

But they had been deceived by the apparent submissiveness of the Yankees, and as I heard the fellow say whose gun I had fixed, “I didn’t think they would do such a dog gone trick on me, when I’d used them so well.” He seemed to lose confidence in all but me, and was mad all through, to think that the fellows he had treated like gentlemen should thus abuse his confidence.

We could have easily captured the whole force and taken the train if we had made an organized effort. But the great trouble was to get officers to obey orders and follow instructions; all wanted to be bosses. I would rather go into action with one regiment of enlisted men than with a whole division of brigadiers.

This fact probably accounts for the rebs always keeping the officers and enlisted men in separate prisons.

We arrived at Columbia October 6th, about 4 p. m., and were at once turned into a field of about five acres, on a sort of side hill. We had not drawn any rations during the day, and having had no opportunity to cook the raw rations we brought from Charleston, or buy anything to eat on the road, we were half starved.

There had been no preparation made for our coming, and the bakers were obliged to fire up and bake bread to feed this unexpected addition to their customers. This, of course, took time, and to men with empty stomachs the hours seemed like days. Women come to the fence that surrounded our camp, with pies, cakes, biscuits and other provisions to sell, and done a thriving business while provisions lasted; but the stock was soon sold out, and yet only a few had been fed. They only had to come to the fence with what they had to sell, and it was bought at whatever price was placed upon it.

I had just bought some bread of one of these venders, when Lieutenant H. Lee Clark, 2d Massachusetts H. A., came up and asked a woman the price of a pie, which she told him was five dollars; he handed her the five dollars, and was reaching through the fence for the pie, when one of the guard that had been placed in the camp, gave him a bayonet thrust in the back, without a word of warning or an order to fall back. It was a terrible thrust and made a wound three-fourths of an inch wide and one and a half inches deep, near the spine. A number of us saw it and watched for this fellow to come on guard again that night, but fortunately for him and perhaps for us, he was relieved and did not again make his appearance. If he had, we had determined to settle him quietly with a stone. An old wooden freight house formed the west boundary of our camp, and under it was stored a quantity of bacon. A number of hams were fished out by means of a hook attached to a long pole, and some even crawled under it to get their rations. Finally about dark, rations of white bread, warm from the ovens, were served and this, with the stolen bacon, made us a good hearty supper.

About this time a terrible rain storm came up, accompanied by a cold northwest wind, which caused intense suffering to those who had no shelter; and as none had any except such as could be made with blankets, nearly all were all that night exposed to one of the worst storms I ever experienced. As was my custom on going into camp, the first thing I did was to gather some boards and improvise a tent from our blankets, using some for a floor on which to place our mattress. This afforded but slight protection from such a terrible storm of wind and rain as that night swept down upon us, but over one thousand of the twelve hundred officers were destitute of even this slight protection, and many were suffering from wounds and disease. To those it was a night of terrible suffering such as few ever experienced before or since. In such a drenching rain fires were impossible, and there was nothing for them to do but tramp all night long in the wind and rain, to keep from perishing. Yet above the howling tempest and amid the drenching rain, could be heard the cheering chorus, “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching.”

Water was running down the slope in torrents, forming miniature rivers as the storm progressed, cutting deep furrows in the soft clay soil, and covering the whole camp with water and mud nearly ankle deep. Few who passed that night of the 6th of October, 1864, in the prisoners’ camp at Columbia, will ever forget it while they live.

The next day we were asked to again give our parole, in which case we would be placed in a beautiful grove about three miles out, where we would have all the facilities for cleanliness and comfort that we could desire. We rather thought we would first see this haven of bliss, and then decide for ourselves about the bargain.

We hung our wet blankets up to dry in the sun which had come out once more to cheer us, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible during the day, not knowing where we were to go next. About four o’clock, teams were brought up to the fence along the road, and we were ordered to load on our traps and get ready to move into camp. Not having much baggage, we were soon ready and the line was formed, and we were again on the march. We had not gone more than half a mile, when we passed the building where was manufactured the Confederate money with which to carry on this great rebellion.

The windows were illuminated with the bright faces of about a hundred young ladies, who were employed in this great printing house, and some of the boys failed to keep step as they cast furtive glances in the direction of the upper story windows, some even going so far as to give a salute that was made a good deal like throwing a kiss, while a few cheeky fellows, who seemed to have forgotten their manners during their long imprisonment, actually had the audacity to sing out: “Say, sis, chuck me down a roll of Confed. Got any new issue to spare? Give us a bundle; you can make more.” But what surprised me most, the girls seemed to enjoy all this chaffing, and some of them actually attempted to get up a flirtation with the detested Yankee prisoners, waving handkerchiefs, throwing kisses, and making such remarks as: “Ain’t he handsome? Oh! look at that fat fellow; ain’t he a daisy,” &c., keeping up a chatter loud enough for us to hear until the whole column had passed.

After a march of three miles, we turned into a ploughed field that was bounded on three sides by what new settlers in the back woods call a slashing. There was not a tent or shelter of any kind, and this was the place that we had been told would afford us every facility for cleanliness and comfort, and for which we had been asked to give our parole.

A guard was formed around this field and we were turned in like so many mules into a corral. For fear of losing our mattress and other camp equipages, if we loaded them on the cart, we fortunately decided to lug them, not knowing how much of a tramp we had to make, and although it was a hard lug, we were well repaid for our labor when we reached the camp, for while many lost things that were invaluable to them, in that they could not be replaced, we were ready to go to housekeeping at once, when we were ordered to break ranks.

Like squatters in a new country, each man was permitted to select his location, and I at once pre-empted a dry knoll, under the shade of a pine tree, as a suitable place to squat and, dumping our household goods there, proceeded at once to improvise a shelter and skirmish around for something for supper.

Again, thanks to Doctor Brets’ generosity (?) our mattress, which we had tugged on our shoulders for three miles, came into play to make us a comfortable bed on the ground, and, after such a supper as we could pick up, and a good smoke, we curled up in our blankets and lay down to dream of home and sumptuous dinners. While we were thus comparatively comfortable that night, there were a thousand of our less fortunate comrades who spread their still damp blankets on the cold wet ground, and almost supperless, passed a night of sleepless misery. The next week I spent in building a brush tent. I received permission to take an axe and go outside the camp, under guard, and cut brush and limbs to build it with. I cut six posts and planted them firmly in the ground, putting poles across to make a ridge tent, and then thatched the steep roof with pine boughs, making it water proof. It required a good deal of labor to complete the quarters, but when done it was warm and comfortable. Having completed our quarters, and got everything snug, I made up my mind that I would like to move North.

CONCLUSION.

Reader, while I do not claim for this volume any rare literary merit, I trust a perusal of its pages may have afforded you some little pleasure, and instruction. I can cheerfully place it in the hands of my old prison associates, confident that they will testify to its truthfulness and fairness.

While the language is my own, I can confidently claim that it conveys no imaginary sufferings and privations. I have endeavored to speak of the Southern prisons and of the treatment meted out to those whom the fortunes of war compelled to endure and suffer the hardships, tortures and privations of a lingering confinement in those loathsome pens of starvation, provided by the self-styled Southern Confederacy, as a punishment for loyalty to country and the flag, just as I found them. Not to the people of the South do I lay the blame of the frightful mortality among prisoners, in those pens of starvation, but to Jeff. Davis and the infamous Winder; who boasted that they were doing more execution among the prisoners, than Lee’s whole army was doing in the field; to them I say that the blood of thirty-five thousand loyal hearted patriots, cry from the ground of Andersonville, Salisbury, Florence and Belle Island, unto a just God, for vengeance upon those who so cruelly, heartlessly and fiendishly murdered them.

To them I say that should they flee to the uttermost parts of the earth, they cannot escape the contempt of an outraged world, nor the curse of the thousands of mothers, widows, and fatherless children, whom they have in their fiendish hatred, robbed of their beloved sons, husbands and fathers.

LIST OF OFFICERS CONFINED IN MACON, GA.

The following is a list of officers who were confined as prisoners of war at Macon, Ga., in 1864. I do not claim the list to be complete, but as nearly so as I can make it at this time: